


Silver Sword

by TK_DuVeraun



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Experiment Felix, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Happy Ending, Inspired by Art, It's the West Virginia of Fodlan, Jesus Christ Faerghus, M/M, Pre-Established Relationship, RIP, Those Who Slither in the Dark, War's Not Going Well Boys, alternating pov, disabling injury, my nemesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 20,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23759542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TK_DuVeraun/pseuds/TK_DuVeraun
Summary: Since it's a request and not a command, Felix agrees to protect Dimitri in Fhirdiad on behalf of his father.Sylvain is forced home from the Sreng border after an attack that leaves him without the Lance of Ruin or the use of his right arm.The professor chose the Golden Deer and then fell at the battle of Garreg Mach. Hopefully, Claude's right and they're just, uh, lost?
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 166
Kudos: 102
Collections: Sylvix Squad Super Stories





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Inspired by this artwork. Written with permission of the artist!](https://twitter.com/vanaillea/status/1251899110459764742?s=20)

_ Idiot- _

_ The old man requested, not ordered, that I go to Fhirdiad and protect the boar. He listened when I told him about the madness in the Holy Tomb. I have no interest in throwing my life away for a mad king, or any king, but this is the first time he’s heard  _ my _ voice in years. _

_ Don’t die. _

_ -Felix _

\---

Sylvain jerked the letter away from his face so his tears wouldn’t smear any more of the ink. He hadn’t gotten Felix’s letter before going to the border. He hadn’t read those last words until he was brought home on a stretcher and told of the execution of Prince Dimitri. Now, he couldn’t stop reading them, wishing for a hint, a trace, a whisper of what passed between them just before they left Garreg Mach, but there was nothing. Felix wouldn’t have risked it with how Sylvain’s father read his mail.

The margrave stood over his sick bed, lecturing in that cruel sneer that used to make Sylvain flinch. Disgrace this, failure that. It couldn’t penetrate the hard shell around his emotions made by Felix’s death. Why should he care about losing a weapon he’d always hated? He’d barely made it home alive and with the mangled mess the attack had left his right arm, he’d never wield it again anyway. Not that his father had ever cared about him as a person, much less as his child.

He let the barrage of hateful words fall on him like so much rain. Felix was dead and with him, their promise. If it had happened a year ago, Sylvain knew exactly what stupid thing he would have done. He’d done his research; it would have been quick and painless, but it wasn’t an option anymore. He’d made a second promise. A silent exchange of broken wills with Marianne. They’d suffer the fucked up world together.

Actually, that gave him an idea. Marianne’s skill with White Magic was known, even in Faerghus. And if hers wasn’t enough, Claude was housing Linhardt in Derdriu. As soon as he could ride, Sylvain would go South ‘in hopes of repairing his arm’ and then just stay. Faerghus was an empty shell of a kingdom, with its heart and spirit both dead. Yeah. He’d go to the Alliance.

\---

Sylvain rode into Derdriu in disguise. His hair was covered with a droopy hat and his beautiful mare left behind in favor of a mud-brown nag. With his arm bound to his chest with bandages he couldn’t replace for the duration of the journey… Well, he certainly looked the part of a refugee. When he arrived at the Riegan house, he wasn’t even given an audience with Claude. He was sour about it until he heard some servants talking about how the Duke was hours from death, at most. 

He and Lorenz had a cold relationship on the best of days and he had no idea who else would be in the capital. He assumed Hilda would be defending her own border with her brother and everyone else fortifying their own territories for invasion. He was trawling through the marketplace, an area larger than all of the town surrounding Castle Gautier, when someone grabbed his good arm.

“You, boy!” Judith von Daphnel eyed him from head to foot and then shook her head. “Boots, boy. They give you away every time.”

Sylvain blinked and looked down at his boots. They were knee-height and splattered from the road. To him, they just looked like boots. He knew who Judith was, every educated person in Fodlan had heard of the Hero of Daphnel, but aside from a perfunctory introduction when she visited the monastery, they’d never met. It was difficult to admit, but with as broken as he was, he was too cowed to ask her for help. “Um…”

She sighed and rubbed her temple. “They’re tailored? Not more than a year old? Clearly unique? Who’s educating you kids up north?” She held up a finger. “Don’t answer that. One of my people in Riegan’s household said someone suspicious was sticking their nose out looking for the boy. You, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Come on. With that arm, you probably haven’t had a hot meal in days. Don’t worry about your horse, my girl’s got her.” With her hand pressing on the center of his back, Judith guided him to the Daphnel house. Though, it took a while since she had words with every other vendor on the way out of the marketplace. She sat him down in the kitchen and took an adjacent stool after ordering her cook to make him lunch. “Sylvain, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sylvain repeated. He’d felt numb ever since he found her. Numb and like he was nine years old and back at the bottom of the well, helpless and alone. Clumsily, he picked up the hot sandwich with his left hand and took a small bite. “I told my father I was just coming South to get my arm looked at, but…”

“But Faerghus is a mess hotter than the fires of Aillel, I know. I heard about what happened to you just last week. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Sylvain looked at his lap. “Attacking the border is one thing, but I was more-or-less untouchable because they knew the rest of Faerghus would come back with Relic Weapons. Even with the Empire, it shouldn’t-” He winced, having accidentally jerked his right arm to gesticulate. 

Judith pulled her stool closer. “How much do you know about Alliance politics?”

“I know Claude’s secretly Almyran, if that’s what you’re asking.”

She shook her head. “It’s not. It’s about his uncle, Godfrey.”

“All I know is that he died in a tragic accident years ago.” He took another bite of sandwich. “Well, for some meaning of accident.”

“That’s right. I’ve been doing some digging since I gave Edmund my seat at the Roundtable. Whomever killed Godfrey wanted it to look like Gloucester's ploy. It does, but it’s too childish for him. No offense, but that’s Kingdom level politics. The game here’s much more complicated.the bottom line is someone was trying to start our civil war years ago.”

Sylvain considered that. “And that would have been all three major nations of Fodlan in chaos at the same time.”

“Good. Claude said you were clever. Based on what he found in…” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “The Abyss, we have reason to believe it’s the same people behind Remire Villager and the Bladebreaker’s murder.”

“And you don’t think that’s Edelgard?”

Judith gave him an unimpressed stare. 

“Yeah, I know. Edelgard was thirteen when the Tragedy of Duscur happened. Duke Fraldarius was looking into it, but nobody cared and now Dimitri and Felix are dead.”

For a moment, Sylvain was sure Judith was going to say something and he thought he was going to throw up what little food he’d managed to eat. He couldn’t stomach condolences. Thankfully, she stood instead. “Marianne’s in the city. I’ll get her to come take a look at your arm. The Hevring and Bergliez boys are with the Kirsten family right now. I’ll write and have them come stay. We’ve been using the political kid gloves with Gloucester, but we’ll need you back in action.”

Sylvain shook his head. “You haven’t seen it. Our healer must have lied to my father. No one can look at this mess and think it’s salvageable. If he’d known, there’s no way he would have let me leave.”

She paused at the door to sigh heavily. “Faerghus,” was all she said before leaving.

Sylvain wrestled with his sandwich, more to keep his mind busy than out of any real hunger.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops.

“It worked!”

“But his hair!”

“If it didn’t work, he’d be dead.”

Felix wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t dead as the voices spoke above him. Everything hurt, including his hair, once they’d mentioned it. He tensed and relaxed his muscles, just to see if he could. Everything worked, though it felt as if his skin had been stripped and then his muscles directly subjected to too much sunlight. His brain sent the signal for a moan, but all that came out was an excruciating rasp.

“See? He’s awake. It worked!”

Felix hurt too much to flinch, but the voice sounded like someone shouting directly in his ear. He opened his eyes and shut them against the light. He reopened them just the slightest crack. He saw dark-robed mages standing over him. The cut of their robes was strange, not from anywhere in Fodlan he knew, and their skin was a weird shade. Like skin-colored cloth that had been left in the sun too long and lost nearly all its color. Their features were slightly off, too. Eyes too inset and lips too wide, like someone had picked random aspects from all over the world and slapped them together on a single face.

“If you want to tell Thales it worked, go ahead, but I won’t be here when you do. Do you remember what happened to Rigel? Because I do.”

“The Ordelias were years ago. We know what we’re doing now.”

“The ten dead Imperial brats say otherwise.”

One slapped another on the arm, or at least, not on skin. Felix couldn’t see it without moving his head and just opening his eyes had taken more energy than he had.

“He already had a major Crest. That’s why his body could take a second one more easily.”

The doubter made an interested sound, but ultimately said, “I’m still going back to the other lab while you tell him.”

“What are you? Some kind of surface dweller?”

“Bite your tongue. I like my face the way it is. Not all of us are in line to live under the sun with those beasts.”

The blackness took Felix before Thales or whomever appeared to check on him.

\---

The next time Felix woke he was alone and in only slightly less pain. Using both hands, he pushed his back off the metal slab he’d been laying on. He turned and put his legs over the edge, but they didn’t reach the ground. The room was brightly lit, but the lamps let off no spoke and he couldn’t smell any oil. He put his blood-stained wrist up to his nose, but no, he could smell perfectly fine. He examined the new network of scars on his arm. They were in-line and perpendicular to his veins, but didn’t stray far from them. His left arm was the same. 

Though he was wearing only pants, and not even _ his _ pants, he couldn’t find any other injuries to explain the horrific pain in every inch of his soul. He leaned forward against a sudden spike of pain in his head and his hair fell forward. He gagged, but his stomach was empty. Aside from a few strands, his hair was completely white. What had they done to him? He lowered himself to his feet and immediately fell to his knees. He held himself up with his arms and panted through the pain. The floor was also made of metal. It didn’t make any sense. Who made floors out of metal? It was too heavy and corroded and-

The door, also metal, swung open and heavy boots lumbered in. Felix looked up. It was the black-eyed man that had appeared from nowhere when Jeralt the Bladebreaker died. He filled up the doorframe and stood, silent and staring. Felix glared back at him.

“You’re awake.”

Felix spat at him, but he was so dehydrated it didn’t leave a trace. 

The man waved his arm and Felix’s body flew, out of his control, until he hit the wall and slid back onto the metal table. With jerky motions, he shoved his white hair out of his face.

“It is best if you understand the position you’re in.” He reached behind him and outside the door. Then he stepped up to the metal bed and shoved the Lance of Ruin into Felix’s hands. Sylvian’s weapon. The Crest Stone flickered to life in his hands and Felix fought the man’s hold, trying to throw away the weapon before it consumed him like it had Miklan.

But it didn’t. The Lance glowed and sucked at his soul, just like the Aegis Shield did in his grasp. He looked up at the man and glared, baring his teeth. “What did you do to me?”

“Attack me, child.”

Felix didn’t need to be told twice. He swung the Lance in the precise arc he’d seen Sylvain perform countless times. And like, then, he saw the blazing, horrible Crest of Gautier appear above the weapon. Felix gagged and the weapon fell from his stiff, aching fingers. His stomach churned and protested. His throat burned with acid and glass-sharp breaths.

“I have given you a gift, Felix.”

“It wasn’t a gift when Sylvain got it. It fucking isn’t now. Where is he?”

The man laughed and picked up the Lance. He set it on the edge of the table. “He was very intentionally left alive when my people acquired your new weapon. Whether or not he remains so is your decision.”

“Speak straight you freak.”

He leaned over Felix, planting his hands on the table and blocking most of the light. “You are my soldier in this war now. Not Edelgard’s, not little Riegan’s, not your mad prince’s, mine. If you want your friends to live, you had best train until you’re on the front line and strong enough to spare them, because I will not.”

He leaned back, snapped his fingers and held out his hand. Within seconds, another of the strange mages scuttled into the room. He put a heavy book in the man’s hand and ran away before he could be noticed, let alone punished. The man set the book on the table next to the Lance. “Study this while your body recovers. You will be tested. Do not be found wanting.”

He left then, with the sound of a heavy latch clicking into place on the door behind him. Felix slumped against the table, letting it sap the heat from his aching body. There was nothing in the room aside from the table and the lamps, but lacked the rats and feces of most prisons, so it could be worse, Felix told himself. He didn’t remember being captured. The last thing he remembered was riding to Fhirdiad. He hadn’t even been pushing his horse, in case the boar was crazy enough to fight on the front lines. 

He looked at the Lance of Ruin. It was meticulous, cleaner than even Sylvain kept it. The man had said Sylvain was alive, but doubt sat heavy in Felix’s stomach. Not that Sylvain was attached to the Lance, but he wouldn’t leave the Sreng border without it. No, there had been a fight and the man’s particular phrasing was far from comforting. The book, too, was strange. The pages had been trimmed until the edge was as straight and flat as its equally abnormal spine. He flipped it open and it was  _ printed. _

Felix held it by the back cover and let the pages flutter open. He’d never seen a printed tome of magic before. The diagrams weren’t even hand-drawn, but they didn’t look like wood-block prints either. It was too sterile, too perfect, like someone had just taken the information in their mind and used a spell to transfer it to paper. The man was probably lying about Sylvain and the rest, but Felix didn’t have any to gain by refusing to learn magic. 

What did he have to lose? Honor?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone continues to have a bad time.

House Daphnel didn’t have a proper infirmary in their Derdriu house, but Judith set up Sylvain and Marianne in a small, sparsely furnished parlor on the second floor. He sat on a divan covered in an oiled canvas and accepted Marianne’s help undressing without any comments. He’d recognized the look in her eyes the first time he met her, so he’d never pretended, never worn the mask for her. It hadn’t made her better, but it hadn’t made her worse, either, which was his greatest fear.

Her solemn expression didn’t change as she unwound the bandages from his right arm. He couldn’t look at it. He’d be seeing it every time he closed his eyes for the rest of his life or until he saw something worse, but since Felix was dead in Fhirdiad some months ago, he didn’t think that was possible. Marianne’s voice was quiet and even. “It’s not as bad as you said.”

Sylvain grimaced and turned his face further away as she pulled his arm into her lap and started cleaning the wounds. 

She was meticulous, but gentle, going through two pitchers of clean water before she was satisfied. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Sylvain reached around his head and pulled his hair back from his right ear, revealing the end of the scarring that came up from his arm. “I lost about a week. They healed the head wound as much as they could on-site and then shipped me back to Gautier for the rest. The healers there didn’t want to touch it, but after--” He sighed and dropped his left arm. “They couldn’t exactly send me to the School of Sorcery in Fhirdiad, but they didn’t want to make it worse.”

“Hmm.” Marianne pulled and twisted it, easing the movements with measured touches of White Magic. “Did you read any of the reports on the attack? I understand if that was too painful.”

“It said I was purposefully separated from the rest, but that’s not unusual. The Srengi warriors want territory, not to be annexed for killing a son from the Ten Elites. They didn’t notice I was injured until the skirmish was over. Where they found me stank of magic, but that was it.”

“Were you mounted?”

Sylvain closed his eyes and fought a full-body wince. “Apparently, he ended up like my arm, but… all over.”

Marianne nodded. “Thank you. For now, I’m going to numb it and more-or-less make it stop healing naturally. Natural healing is very… clumsy, as you know. Lysithea is more likely to be able to help than Linhardt. She’ll be back in Derdriu in two days and we’ll look at it together. In the absolute worst case, you’ll have to make a choice.”

“Alright.” Sylvain did what he could to help pull on the soft, blue smock she handed him. She left his right arm strapped to his chest under the smock. “Lay it on me.”

She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “It may not come to this… But if it does, we can lock your arm to use a shield or a lance.” She demonstrated with her elbow held at ninety degrees and then swinging it away from her body. “The other option will be a greatly weakened arm, but after a lot of rehabilitation, you should be able to perform basic tasks like eating.”

“Well… I thought you were going to get rid of it altogether.” He plastered on his fake smile and laughed. “Ah, well, the professor was always trying to get me to study Black Magic and now here we are.”

\---

Sylvain waited in the parlor for Marianne and Lysithea to arrive to examine his arm. The White Magic had lasted only a few hours before the pain returned, but Sylvain mostly managed to ignore it. A small voice whispered in the back of his head that the pain would never really go away, but he and that voice were old friends, so he didn’t pay it any heed. He sat on the divan and wrestled the smock off, laying it to the side and trying to fold it with one hand.

Lysithea announced herself with a brash, “You’d better not make any comments, Sylvain.”

He gave her his best fake smile. “I would never.”

“Yeah, right.” Together with Marianne, she removed the bandages from his arm. She clicked her tongue almost immediately. “You’re right, Marianne. This is definitely Dark Magic.”

“I coulda told you that,” Sylvain said.

Lysithea reached across him and smacked his left shoulder. “Dark Magic, not Black Magic.”

Then Sylvain finally turned to look at his arm. It was just as awful as he remembered from when he first woke up, if not worse from the mottled scabbing. He glanced at Lysithea’s face. “You mean that non-elemental, purple-y magic you and Hubert use?”

“Exactly. I know you’re almost as nosy as Claude-”

“Hey!”

“So what do you know about my family?” Her gaze was piercing and uncomfortably calculating.

Sylvain rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, House Ordelia allied with House Hrym during the Insurrection of the Seven. It’s a little hazy after that. By all accounts Ionius IX was still on the throne and obviously Edelgard was able to succeed him and depose the nobles from the Insurrection, like von Aegir Senior, but the Hresvelg, Hrym and Ordelia families were all decimated, each going from a handful of heirs to just Edelgard, Jeritza and you.”

Lysithea nodded solemnly, a shadow of the darkness from his and Marianne’s eyes in the back of her gaze. “The Insurrection was orchestrated by Solon and Kronya’s people. They convinced the nobles to rebel so they could get their hands on the Imperial heirs and then punished them for doing so. The children from Houses Hrym and Ordeliea were… experiments.” She pulled up her sleeve, revealing a map of scars over her veins. “I was born with a minor Crest of Charon. Thanks to those experiments, I now also have a major Crest of Gloucester. The process bleached my hair and dramatically shortened my lifespan.” She looked away.

“I was the proof of concept before they moved onto Edelgard and her siblings. I don’t know what Crest they gave her, but I know it worked, since her hair is white like mine. None of the Hrym children survived. Probably because they didn’t have a Crest.”

“But Jeritza…”

“Officially, he was adopted, but none of the Hrym family has been seen since the Insurrection.” She sighed and returned to his arm. “The point is, those people use this kind of magic. After the experiments I couldn’t use really elemental magic, but they left behind enough of their things in my family’s home that I was able to learn how to wield it. It’s that kind of magic that destroyed your arm. The spell is still in it, which is why it’s… like this. I can dispel it, but it’ll never be like it was before.”

Sylvain bowed his head and sighed. The thick knot of tension in his chest eased, just a little. “Thanks.”

“Claude thinks the Tragedy of Duscur was organized by them, too. And with the execution of the regent and von Arnim’s coup, it just seems more likely. Judith was able to find people who swear Cornelia acted differently when she cured the plague and when she was made a court mage. Someone must have taken her over like Solon and Tomas. The point is, we know they’re also active in Faerghus.”

Sylvain scratched his cheek, realizing for the first time since his injury that he was knee-deep in stubble, thanks to his inability to shave. He almost didn’t want to know how bad the rest of him looked. He cleared his throat. “I think the bottom line is now they have the Lance of Ruin and if they don’t already have one, they’re going to make someone who can wield it.”

Lysithea nodded. “I won’t pretend Thyrsus isn’t useful, but being able to use it isn’t the advantage it seems.”

“Yeah…”

Marianne spoke up for the first time, her hands clenched together so tightly that they were bright white. “I’m starting to think all Crests are curses.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy my... piecing together of the nonsense canon spat at us.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unintentionally hilarious and I'm not sorry.

Felix had no sense of time. There were no windows in his metal cell and the lamps never so much as flickered. By the time the pain faded enough for him to notice his hunger, his stomach was trying to cannibalize his spine and, ironically, trying to make him throw up whatever bile was left in his stomach. He crawled across the metal floor back to the table. His hands were clumsy on the Lance and he gritted his teeth. It couldn’t have been more than a few days since he ate and it was only… only… He squeezes his dry eyes shut. What was it Glenn had said?

The rule of threes. Three minutes without air. Three days without water. Three weeks without food. So he’d been awake fewer than three days. Three days and he was already a complete mess with a weapon. He hit the door with the butt of the Lance over and over until his arms gave out with weakness. Surely that man hadn’t meant him to die here, if he’d bothered to give him a second Crest and a weapon to use with it.

“Thank the sweet Earth he figured it out,” a voice said from the other side of the door. The latch screeched open and Felix slumped through the open door. “Shit he looks bad.”

“I told you we should have given him water earlier,” a second voice said.

Felix’s vision swam as he looked up at the speakers. To his blurry sight, they looked like twins with their uniforms and equally-smeared faces. Their uniforms actually looked like the Academy uniforms and a hysterical laugh caught in Felix’s dry throat. The second one had a clear-glass jar that he jerked off for a moment before the metal lid came off and he poured a little water into Felix’s mouth.

“Our instructions were clear,” the first man said.

“If you think we would have been punished for giving the brat water, imagine how far up your ass Thales’ boot would be if he died.”

“I didn’t see you opening the door until he knocked on it.”

“Oh, shut up. Grab his shit; I’ll carry him.”

“You can’t carry him; he’s the same size as you.”

“Fuck off. Kronya taught me the fireman’s carry before she got axed.”

The first man paused and held up a finger to stop the second one. “Why would she teach you that?”

“She was into some weird shit.”

“I don’t want to know anymore.”

“No, you don’t.”

The small sip of water he’d had sloshed angrily in Felix’s stomach as he was lifted from the floor. He ended up draped across the man’s shoulders with his arms and legs held forward by the man’s arms. He wasn’t sure how he thought a man made of fire would carry someone, but it wasn’t like this. A memory dribbled up from his mind; his father called his the healer’s carry since it made the weight seem less. He tried to picture Linhardt carrying someone, but it quickly turned into Mercedes and Ingrid was swooning in the background.

The men finally set him down on an actual bed. They held out the bottle with water. “You’re severely dehydrated. Sips only, got it?”

Felix snarled. “I’m not a child.”

“Someone will be back with food in two hours. I’m sure if you use that weapon properly you can break the door, but you won’t be able to escape and the more trouble you cause, the more likely Thales is to punish you.” The man looked sympathetic, which did nothing to endear him to Felix.

The other man set the magic tome down on the wooden desk. He patted the cover. “This isn’t the upstairs version, so if you don’t understand anything, you should ask.”

“I’m not a child,” Felix repeated.

“Alright. Your funeral, kid.” The men shrugged in unison and left, locking the door behind them.

The room was about the same size as the dorms in Garreg Mach. It had the bed, the desk, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers and a door off to the side that they hadn’t left through. On top of the chest of drawers was a strange, reflective panel with a black backing. There was a mirror on the back of the first door, so he didn’t think it was supposed to be one of those. The ceiling had two, long lamps. If he stood on the chair, he would be able to reach them, but he had no idea how to snuff them, so it hardly mattered.

He picked up the bottle and frowned at it. The metal lid refused to be pulled off. If he tried enough times, his Crest would activate-- One of his Crests. Felix grimaced at the bottle. He didn’t want to resort to boar tactics anyway. If one of the morons from earlier had been able to open it, he could do it. His thoughts were still hazy, but he panned back when the idiot had opened it. He tried to copy the motions. After a minute, he was rewarded with the lid becoming looser. The trick was to twist it like a doorknob. 

He fought the urge to call Sylvain over to look at the mechanism and took a sip in silence. He stared blankly at the black, reflective panel for an eternity, then took another sip. He repeated that until he no longer felt like dying, then pulled the blanket over his head and fell asleep.

\---

Felix woke in near-complete darkness. The overhead lamps had been extinguished, but there was some other light source. He dropped the blankets and shuffled around to find it. About a foot from the floor was a small, shaded lamp stuck to the wall. Experimentally, he tugged it and it popped off easily. “Fuck.”

In complete darkness, he fumbled with the lamp, shoving it against the wall in different orientations until it stuck and lit again. He jabbed it with his index finger. “The fuck is this.” Not expecting an answer, he sighed and stood. Since his eyes had adjusted he could take stock of the room again. Aside from a covered platter on his desk -- and the darkness -- nothing had changed. Under the cover was a tasteless soup probably made from vegetables, but shredded and congealed into a single, smooth texture. His stomach protested, but not enough that Felix felt sick.

Felix left half of the soup behind and then explored the room in more depth. The wardrobe and chest of drawers had fabric items, undoubtedly clothes, maybe bedding, but he couldn’t really make them out in the dim light from the tiny lamp. The second door opened easily. It led to a small room that was tiled over and had a basin and a few scattered metal fixtures. A washroom. That was… unexpected. He was extremely interested in a bath, but the light from the small lamp barely penetrated the darkness and the door would shut the moment he released it. An endeavor for later.

He left it and experimentally fiddled with the entrance door. To his surprise, it opened. Blinking, Felix stepped into the hallway. It was more than a little chill against his bare chest and feet, but it was lined with those same overhead lamps. It stretched out into nothingness in either direction, only with doors identical to his to break it up. He didn’t doubt that there were further defenses to keep him inside the building, even if this wasn’t a maze. The idiots hadn’t carried him very far, but retracing his steps to the metal room wouldn’t do him any good.

With a frown, and for lack of anything else to do, Felix wrapped himself in the blankets from the bed and cracked open the magic tome.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain continues to have a bad time.

The weather in Derdriu was aggressively nice. Birds chirped directly outside the window of Sylvain’s guest room and the breeze off the ocean was cool and refreshing without a hint of war. Sylvain tried not to let it get to him. A knock came and Sylvain pulled a shirt on. A real, goddess-blessed shirt. It took him longer than he’d expected, but his arm was no longer ground meat hanging pitifully from the bones and he did it.

Claude was on the other side, holding a lunch tray and looking years older even though it had only been months since they were together at Garreg Mach. He’d let his facial hair grow out into a dark beard that framed his face. He wore light, sand-colored riding leathers with a green and yellow scarf holding back his hair. “Hey Sylvain. Good to see you. Wish it was under better circumstances.”

Sylvain took the tray and set it on the table. “I’m sorry about your grandfather. You have my condolences.”

“Thanks.” Claude took a seat opposite him and poured them both cups of tea. “I didn’t have a lot of time to know him and he called me Godfrey a few times at the end there, but it was nice.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “My father’s parents died when I was a baby, so it was… new.”

Sylvain pulled his plate toward himself and said nothing. Claude knew he had nothing to contribute to the conversation, anyway. If he picked up his plate and held it close to his face, he could manage using his right hand to eat, but it was slow and clumsy, so he still used his left when he had company.

“Anyway, your arm looks like an arm, which I hear is a development.”

“Yeah, Lysithea and Marianne are miracle workers.” Using his right hand, Sylvain shook out his napkin and spread it across his lap. “In theory, I could strengthen it enough to hold a shield, but that also means learning sword or lance with my left hand. The professor was starting me on Black Magic before everything went down and I have a hand for it, so I may as well.”

“Lorenz will be relieved.”

“I thought he was still in denial about his father being awful?”

Claude laughed into his teacup. “He is, but he’ll never be as good as Lysithea at magic, so he wants to be the best at  _ something _ and since Ferdinand didn’t defect, he’s decided that’s going to be paladin.”

“He didn’t? Ouch.” Sylvain hissed and then took a bite of food. “He’s never going to get over his inferiority complex with Edelgard right there.”

“I know. I hate to say it, but tactically-speaking, he’s one of her weakest generals and she’ll be shackled to giving him something important.” Claude stirred the contents of his plate more than he ate it.

“I can’t see Hubert letting that happen without countermanding her.”

“It’s a good point, but Ferdinand’s spine is growing faster than his tactical skills. His father being on house arrest really put a fire under his ass to make something of himself. Though speaking of Lorenz and defectors-” Claude laughed at Sylvain’s expression. “No need to brace yourself. I just got a letter from him saying that Dorothea had crossed into Gloucester territory. She has no interest in fighting, but wanted to know if there was some place she could look after refugees or orphans.”

“That’s a good place for her, honestly.”

“Did Judith tell you about Rhea?” 

“Has she been found?”

“Yes and no. Edelgard’s people captured Rhea, but as far as our spies can tell, it’s seriously hush-hush.” Claude leaned away from the table, interest in food gone completely. “After compiling everything from you, Lysithea, the Abyss and Judith, I think I’ve got a pretty clear picture of everything.”

Sylvain frowned and speared a few carrot pieces on his fork. “That’s your ‘Seteth and Flayn are the living Saints’ face.”

“Exactly!” Claude grinned and a fierce joy sparkled in his eyes. “Blah, blah, Seteth is Cichol, Flayn is Cethleann, Rhea is Seiros herself, right? The Dark Ones, that is, Solon, Kronya and Thales, are the people who want to target the Church specifically. Hate the nobility all you want, but Brigid, Almyra and every country I’ve heard of has it. That’s not the Church’s doing. I think they orchestrated this entire war specifically to kill the Saints, whatever their true forms are.”

Sylvain mulled that over. It fit with his theories and patched over some holes. “So the destruction of the nobility is Edelgard just trying to get her own piece from the war?”

“I mean, can’t really blame her. I haven’t lost one sibling, let alone ten.” Claude paused. “Well, Javed lost his,” Claude made a rude, jerking gesture, “so his name’s a little ironic now, but…”

Sylvain snorted. “So you’re dropping the pretense now?”

“Haha, no. Not a chance, but you already figured it out and Judith doesn’t have any eavesdroppers, at least none that report to someone other than her, so why not?

“Any chance your familial connection can get us some help?”

Claude sighed and rubbed his temple. “I’d say asking for help would make me look weak, but the truth is they’ve got a war on their own Eastern border. The force at the Throat is beyond token. Mostly old and disabled warriors that can’t be identified from wyvern back.”

“With Felix dead-” Sylvain gasped at the feelings saying it aloud brought up. Tears spilled from his eyes like a flooded river and his chest burned and froze in turns. “Goddess.” He rubbed at his face, thankful that Claude didn’t comment. He took several steadying breaths and drained his cup of tea, pouring a second one before he could speak again. He couldn’t bring himself to repeat it. “And me like this, and, more importantly, down here, I can’t see Faerghus holding out long. I know there’s a baby Fraldarius cousin with a Crest, but that’s not enough to show stability.”

“Yeah. Judith and I are doing what we can to scuttle the Empire, but honestly, the weather is our best ally. They have territories in the North, but the bulk of the Imperial population is from the South. They can’t handle Faerghus winters any better than I can.” Claude steepled his fingers under his nose. “I hate to say it, but conquering Faerghus is probably the worst thing Edelgard could do right now. She’ll deplete her troops and supplies and won’t gain anything. With everyone in Faerghus drafted, the fields aren’t going to be properly tended. We’re looking at mass starvation.”

“Yeah… My father’s steward started falsifying our records almost immediately because my father absolutely would starve the rest of the territory in order to ‘win.’” Sylvain said, appetite also lost. “Galatea’s gonna starve.”

Claude laughed with no humor. “You know, Judith asked me how old Ingrid’s brothers were.”

Sylvain paused and then also laughed. “Rejoin the line to the main house?”

“Yeah, it would keep everyone fed.”

“Pity. What about Hilda or Marianne?”

“Come on, Sylvain. Don’t play dumb.”

Sylvain shrugged. “What? They’re noble. It happens to all of us.”

Claude sighed. “That kind of reasoning is exactly why Edelgard is figureheading this war. I’m not going to suggest it to them and you’d better not, either. No matter what you tell yourself, you’re better than that.”

“Am I?”

Claude bridged the gap and held Sylvain’s wrist gently. “I’m sorry about Felix. I really,  _ really, _ am. And… I think I have some idea how you feel, but you can’t let him take the good parts of you with him. He wouldn’t want that.”

“Yeah, maybe.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We return to Felix being unintentionally hilarious.

A woman with pale, blonde hair found Felix in the hallway. She cocked her head to the side and looked painfully like Mercedes with her soft smile. “Hello. You’re the surfacer, right? Everyone’s been talking about you.”

Felix scowled up at her. He’d been making shockingly good progress on the text. One of the earlier men had said it was written differently and that was definitely true. Written in a way he could actually understand it. It made him angry that anything in this prison was good. “My  _ name _ is Felix.”

“I’m sorry, Felix.” She blushed and bowed her head. “Is that rude? I can’t remember ever having a visitor here in Agartha.”

“I’m a prisoner, not a visitor.”

“Oh. Well… I’d offer to help you escape, but we’re not allowed to go above ground, either. Is that why you’re sitting in the hallway? To try to escape?” She tilted her head to the other side.

Felix had no desire to answer her, but as she continued to stand there with that earnest expression that looked too much like Annette, he gave in. “The lamps in my room went out and I don’t know how to light them.”

She blinked, making her too-big eyes more obvious. “I can take a look? I’m no electrician, but I can replace bulbs.”

“Whatever.” Felix stood and held the door for her to enter. “There’s just the tiny lamp against the wall.”

She stepped inside and turned in a circle. She fiddled with the wall next to the door and with a soft click, the lamps lit with an instant intensity that hurt Felix’s eyes. “The switch was just off. Do you put them somewhere else on the surface?” She moved away from the wall and showed him a tiny lever. She flicked it down and up and the lamps extinguished and lit again.

“We don’t use that kind of magic, no.”

“It’s not magic; it’s just electricity.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Is there one of those in the washroom, too?”

“Should be. On the same side of the frame as the doorknob.”

Felix stalked across his cell and felt along the wall to the right of the door. Like she’d said, there was a tiny lever and when he flicked it up the overhead lamp lit. It was so convenient he wanted to spit. He went back into the main room and gestured to the black, reflective panel. “Alright, what’s this?”

“That’s a TV. It lets you, um…” She bit her lip and thought for a moment. “You can, uh, watch plays with it?”

“You don’t know what it does?”

“Don’t be angry with me! You’re the one that doesn’t know what a light switch is. I don’t know how to explain it to a surfacer. It’s not like you’ve heard of The Mysterious Journey!” She put her hands on her hips and pouted. He was just going to call her Blonde Annette.

“Why do you keep calling me a surfacer? Are we underground?”

“Obviously! We moved Agartha underground thousands of years ago when the hell beasts destroyed the world. Nemesis the Liberator almost saved everything, but the hell witch Seiros murdered him.”

Hell witch Seiros? What was wrong with these people? Felix shook his head. It didn’t matter. They were his captors. He didn’t care what they believed. “Whatever. Thanks, I guess.”

Blonde Annette looked dubious, but nodded before leaving.

\---

Several hours later, not that Felix could suddenly tell time, it was that he had read a large chunk of the tome, a woman burst into his room. He didn’t really have words for hear appearance beyond ‘creepy.’ She had the same black eyes as Solon and the large man who he assumed was named Thales. Her hair was a muddy, grey-brown and hung in thick hanks around her face. Her nails were long and sharpened into claws.

“Fraldarius!” She snarled at him. “If you think you’ll be allowed to starve yourself, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Felix merely lifted a single, unimpressed eyebrow. The strange men had made it clear that Thales wanted him alive and he was fairly certain Thales was in charge, not whomever this was. 

She stalked in and grabbed his chin, her nails digging into the soft skin of his face. “We have ways of making you eat. Lose any hope that your father or the Gautier boy will save you. They all think you’re dead. Just like big brother.”

Felix frowned and did his best to ignore the bottom of his stomach dropping out. He hadn’t ever hoped for rescue, but Sylvain thinking he was dead was disastrous at best. “No one’s brought me anything to eat, you stupid witch.”

She grabbed him by the collar and hauled him off his chair. “Show some respect, brat.”

“Bite me.”

The woman released him and stroked her chin. “Ah, I understand the problem. You don’t recognize me in my true glory. Ah, I suppose there’s nothing for it.” In a flash of magic her shape changed and standing before Felix was Cornelia von Arnim.

He spat at her.

She slapped him across the face, but it was worth it. Her face flickered back to her true form and she grabbed him by the arm, dragging him from his room. “You will eat if I have to force feed you myself.” 

Felix wanted to dig his heels in just to spite her, because surely she had been the one to capture him when he arrived in Fhirdiad, but he was also hungry, so he allowed himself to be led. He rolled his eyes when they arrived at a dining hall. No one had told him he was supposed to find food himself. This was the worst kidnapping operation he’d ever heard of and Ashe had made him read all kinds of trash books.

He jerked his arm out of her gasp and walked up to the line of people. It was split between mages, people in the stiff uniform and others in loose, dark clothing like himself. Even his piebald hair didn’t stick out much. He paused to sneer at Cornelia before looking up at the board that displayed the food options. Most of the names may as well have been written in Almyran for all that Felix could understand them. He ordered beef stew because at least he knew what that was.

What he didn’t understand was the slip of paper he was handed in return. Rather than asking aloud, he looked around. Everyone else seemed to be loitering with slips of paper, so he moved to loiter just away from the bulk of them. One of the dining staff stood behind one end of the counter and called out a number. As one, the group checked their little papers and one of them walked up to collect their food. Felix looked over his paper. There were several numbers, it said beef stew. He muttered rebelliously under his breath until the next number was called. 7-0-8. That was close to the number at the bottom of his paper, 7-1-3.

As he’d guessed, 7-1-3 was called when there was a tray with a bowl of his stew. The system seemed needlessly complicated. Couldn’t they just call out the order? He took his food with a growl and took it back to his room. As he stood in the hallway of identical doors, he cursed under his breath. He had no idea which one was his. Balancing the tray on his left arm, he simply tried every door until one opened and then peered inside to check the contents. Thankfully, all of the unlocked rooms were stuffed with personal effects, so he was relatively certain the empty one was his. He checked the wardrobe and yes, the Lance was still there, so he locked the door from the inside, not that it had stopped Cornelia, and ate in silence.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My poor babies.

The months passed with such dismal routine that Sylvain could almost forget they were at war. He spent most of his time trying to unwind Alliance politics into something that made sense, but even Lorenz admitted some parts were arguing for the sake of arguing. Gloucester would oppose Claude’s suggestions just to remind him that the territory could cede at any moment. Sylvain received regular letters from his father, but after confirming that Judith had read them, he tossed them in the fire. He wasn’t going back. There was nothing to go back to.

It seemed like an eternity ago that Felix had dragged Sylvain out of the Garreg Mach ballroom and demanded answers. Because he was an idiot, he hadn’t known what Felix was talking about, hadn’t realized the flush on their cheeks wasn’t from the heat of the ball.

“I might not have your marks, but I’m not stupid, Sylvain. You stopped fucking around with girls weeks ago and I feel your eyes on me when I practice.”

Fear like he’d rarely felt boiled hot in Sylvain’s stomach. He felt like he was back in the well, scrambling at the sides for any purchase, any opportunity to escape his fate. He put his hands behind his head and smiled his biggest, fakest smile. “Of course. You’re our class’ representative. I wanted to make sure you didn’t embarrass us.”

“Enough!” Felix grabbed his jacket with both fists and pulled him close. When he spoke again his voice was low and dark. “I’m not going to play this game with you. I deserve better than those girls you jerk around.”

“Felix…” Sylvain swallowed hard. This wasn’t the rant he’d been fearing. This was worse. This sounded like Felix was giving him an opportunity to ruin everything he’d ever wanted. “I’m scared.”

“Of me? The margrave? Did you ever wonder why my old man didn’t just make me inherit Glenn’s betrothal?” Felix looked fierce in the moonlight.

Sylvain could hardly breathe for the sight of him. As though his touch might break the vision, Sylvain slowly lifted his hand until it covered Felix’s. “No. Whenever I think about that… I just worry if you’re okay.”

“He knew I didn’t want it and if he tried to force me into it, he’d have no heir at all. Your father can make whatever demands he wants. He has no power over you. If he stops defending the border, he loses the territory to Sreng. The regent barely does his official duties. He’s not going to pull his face out of a whore’s legs to order you to get married. Is it the end of the Gautier line? Who cares? You’ve wanted peace with Sreng your whole life, Lance or no Lance.”

“Felix… It’s not that-”

“What? Easy? Nothing in our lives is easy, Sylvain. Glenn died and there wasn’t even enough to bury. After what we saw in Remire, do you honestly think it’s going to be any different for us?”

“But what if I hurt you?”

“You’re already hurting me!”

Sylvain bowed his head until their foreheads touched. “I’m sorry, Felix. I-”

“And I don’t want your excuses!”

Sylvain looked up and felt his heart shrivel in his chest. Felix was crying. He hadn’t seen Felix cry since Glenn’s funeral. “I don’t know what you want. I don’t know how to make it right.”

Felix pulled him into a kiss then. It was easier than words, but hurt just as badly. They were both crying, spilling their emotions out between them in a waterfall that should have made Sylvain feel empty, but just left him warm.

He kept their foreheads pressed together when he pulled back to breathe. “I’ll be better. I promise.”

But Felix was dead and Sylvain was left with two broken promises hanging around his neck. 

\---

When he wasn’t sitting in on Roundtable discussions, Sylvain alternated between strengthening his arm and practicing magic. Before they lost the professor, he’d felt like he was getting the hang of magic, but now he struggled with simple fireballs, let alone bolganone. He visited Lysithea to see what was wrong. He would have preferred Annette -- it also would have made her feel good to fix his problem -- but she was busy trying to keep House Dominic alive in the war.

Lysithea had him wait while she ate his offering of hand cakes. It was four small cakes in different colors and flavors. “I like this yellow one. Get me a full-sized one for my birthday.”

“Sure thing, Lys. I appreciate your help.”

She nodded, mouth full of cake and lips lined with frosting. “How’s your arm?”

“It doesn’t hurt anymore. Doesn’t seem to be getting any stronger, but training always feels like that. You did a great job.”

“Of course I did.” She wiped off her hands and gestured for him to follow her. She led him out to the back court behind the house. The ground had been covered in gravel and several dummies glowed with resistance magic. “Alright. Cast a few fireballs and I’ll see what the trouble is.”

Syvalin watched Lysithea more than the dummies as he cast. His vision wasn’t the greatest and his aim wasn’t the problem. However, Lysithea’s frown got deeper the more fireballs he threw. 

“Okay, that’s enough. I see the problem. The spell must have tainted your magic pool.”

Sylvain wanted to throw up. “That’s it, then? I’m not a paladin. I can’t use magic.”

“Don’t you  _ dare _ get hysterical on me.” Lysithea stalked up to him and glared into his eyes, searing his soul. “Not only did I lose my entire family, but I had to  _ watch _ as my siblings were taken away and brought back weaker and weaker until they died. My  _ life _ is shortened. I’ll be lucky to see thirty years old. Don’t you dare look me in the eye and act like your life is over.”

Sylvain hugged her. He didn’t have words, but he couldn’t just leave it like that. He hugged her and when she hugged him back, he cried. Crying turned to sobbing and then she was supporting most of his weight as all the sadness in his heart poured out. “I’m sorry. I just miss him so much. I spent so long fucking things up and then it was okay, it was okay just for a few weeks. And then he was gone. He was gone and I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there and I didn’t even know for weeks. He was gone and I didn’t know. I didn’t feel anything. He deserved better than me.”

“Oh Sylvain. You big idiot. Come on. I’ll teach you how to make cake. That always makes me feel better. We’ll make the spicy cake I designed for Felix, okay? How does that sound?”

“Good.” Sylvain sniffed and wiped his eyes, even though he was still crying.

He left her grab him with her tiny hand and drag him through to the kitchen.


	8. Chapter 8

As much as Felix hated living underground, he was something approaching happy when he was finally allowed to return to sword training. Of course, he was forced to spend half of his time training with a lance, but it was a small price to pay. The worst of it was how he felt Sylvain in the heft of the weapon and felt his eyes in the dance of the steps.

Adolescence had been one blow after another. First, he realized he was in love with Sylvain. Then Sylvain was flirting with everything in a skirt with actual  _ intent. _ Then Glenn died. Then the boar showed his true colors. He’d hoped that Garreg Mach was far enough from Gautier that Sylvain would calm down, but if anything, his behavior got worse. Felix could follow Sylvian’s stupid logic. He felt the noose tightening on his neck. Once he graduated, there’d be no excuse to keep his father at bay.

But it was stupid Sylvain logic, as Felix had so painstakingly made clear. Confessing, forcing a confession, the details didn’t matter, it had been painful and now Sylvain was surely doing something stupid because of it. Felix ran the training dummy through with his lance and bared his teeth. The sooner he could leave, the sooner he could show himself on the battlefield, the sooner Sylvain would move from one kind of stupid to another, hopefully less self-destructive kind of stupid. 

He rubbed his sweat-soaked hair off his forehead and considered retying his hair. He decided against and threw the training lance in the direction of the rack. Magic flared to life in both of his hands, purple and black wisps responding to his will better than lightning ever did. He twisted and molded the wisps to his specifications and then launched them at the dummy. This, too, was its own dance, one that didn’t carry memories. He pivoted and spun, letting the power flow through him until the dummies were reduced to ashes and residual magic. He hoped it would be enough.

\---

It was halfway through the Harpstring Moon the first time Felix was allowed on the surface. He closed his eyes and breathed in the fresh air. There was a slight breeze and he drank in the scent of the earth and spring. He didn’t dramatically fall to his knees and stick his hands in the soil, but it was a close thing. He was in some set of foothills he didn’t recognize. Thales, wisely, hadn’t trusted him with the location of the underground entrance.

“Eugh, how do you stand it? This is awful,” the mage accompanying him said. Felix had forgotten the man’s name on purpose and instead referred to him only as “you,” a pejorative or “Better Lorenz” depending on his mood. Regardless of his name, he cowered at the vast openness of the sky.

“Tch. Go back inside, then.” Felix drew his sword and ran through some of his katas. He didn’t notice the weight of the Lance of Ruin on his back. A terrible part of his mind whispered that he’d be much more powerful if he had the Sword of Moralta, but having it would mean his father was dead and that was one step too far, even with their poor relationship.

“Look, just… if I start falling up, you have to grab me.”

“...What?” Felix stopped his contemplation of the surroundings and turned to face Better Lorenz. 

He had purple hair tied back in a braid and stuffed into the hood of his robes. After so many months with the Agarthans, his robes actually looked normal. He had a long nose and mostly-normal eyes, which was why he’d been selected to accompany Felix above ground. Well, and the fact that he didn’t fill Felix will murderous rage most of the time. He was currently waving hysterically at the sky.

“There’s no ceiling. We’re going to- to fall up into the nothingness.”

“That has never happened.”

“But how do you know?”

“I lived up here for eighteen years, you fucking nimby.” Felix rolled his eyes and sheathed his sword. “We have a job to do and I’m not about to get trapped underground for another year just because you’re afraid of the fucking sky.”

“Alright, alright, keep your pants on.” Better Lorenz grabbed his arm and took a deep breath. “We’re gonna make a few jumps. Just… Be yourself if you need a break.”

Felix rolled his eyes, but said nothing as the first warp spell took hold. After the fifth and final spell, Felix did fall to his knees and dig his hands into the soil, but that was more to keep from vomiting than anything else. He took several breaths in through his nose and let the simple feeling of being  _ outside _ calm his roiling stomach. Finally, he got to his feet and snapped his fingers, causing the mud and grass caked on his knees to fall to the ground.

“Wow, not fair. I could never master that spell.”

“You’re also afraid of the sky.”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Not a chance.” Felix smirked. Internally, he felt a horrible pang. He shouldn’t be happy. He was a prisoner and a toy soldier in a war against his own people. But at the same time, that wasn’t Better Lorenz’s fault. He tried not to let his expression fall too much.

“Alright. I’ll go in first. Hubert was told we’re coming, but someone might get excited and try to stab you.” Better Lorenz patted him on the shoulder and led the way into the Imperial outpost. 

Edelgard herself wasn’t in attendance, but most of the former Black Eagles were there, including Ashe. Felix lifted his eyebrows at their shocked expressions, but said nothing as Better Lorenz explained the situation.

“Hi, yes, hello. I’m here on behalf of Lord Arundel with Felix.” He held out his hands as if presenting some great present. “Please treat him kindly for this mission. It would be just terrible if there were any accidents.”

“Is this Felix or is he being like Monica?” Petra asked. Her hair was intricately braided and she wore clothes that must have been native to Brigid because Felix thought she looked ridiculous and cold.

“I’m me.” Felix turned to show his mostly-white hair. He held up a hand, palm out. “But make no mistake, we’re  _ not _ friends.” He turned and aimed his glare directly at Hubert. “And I don’t answer to you.”

Hubert didn’t so much as blink. “We’re aware, Fraldarius. Have you been briefed?”

“Yes. It’s just a show of force to provoke my father into leading what remains of the kingdom to ruin. Try not to slow me down.” He pulled the Lance of Ruin off his back and heard the gasps as it came to life in his grasp.

“You have a second Crest! Just like Edelgard!” Ferdinand said. His hair had grown into an unruly mess that he only half-managed to tie back.

Felix bared his teeth. “Any other questions?”

Hubert stepped up and shoved the Lance down. “Enough grandstanding. Let us be on our way.”

He left the outpost and the others filed after him, Ashe lingering behind. He clearly wanted to say something, but with Better Lorenz standing next to him, he kept held back. In the end, he just patted Felix’s shoulder and said, “I’m sorry about Dimitri.”

Felix held back once Ashe was gone. He rounded on Better Lorenz. “He thinks Dimitri's dead?”

“Ah, yes.” He pressed the tips of his fingers together. “See, when you were captured and we killed the regent, Dimitri was set to be executed. He managed to escape… somehow. I’m not sure. Thales did kill a lot of people afterward though, so it was a fuckup of some sort. Anyway, since he’s lost the plot, Cornelia was confident he wouldn’t join the rebellion, so she just told everyone the execution went off as planned.”

“Fucking boar.”

“That’s about the short of it, yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I had a migraine, so thank you for your patience regarding this and future updates.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The part you've all been waiting for.

“Lorenz! I didn’t think you were allowed in the Daphnel house.” Sylvain smirked and slipped in the chair opposite Lorenz. A beautiful, but simple tea setting sat between them. Lorenz had poured them both cups of tea.

“It would have been unspeakably rude for Lady Judith to deny me a visit with her guest. My, you are quite nearly foster status at this point.” Lorenz was not dealing with the war well, at least, not to Sylvain’s eyes. While his old haircut was atrocious, his attempt to grow it out wasn’t helping. Neither were his overly ostentatious clothes. Sylvain was used to seeing him across the Roundtable, from their respective seats behind Claude and Count Gloucester, but up close Lorenz looked less like a person and more like a horrible mannequin designed to show off wealth.

“Are you here to gloat?”

“About what? My father’s latest success in the Roundtable? Really, Sylvain is that what you think of me?” Lorenz looked honestly hurt by the question.

Sylvain didn’t know what to do with that. He sighed and took a sip of his tea, even though it was still too hot. Then he rubbed his right elbow, even though it hadn’t so much as ached in months. “Sorry. I thought I was doing better, but then his birthday came and I feel like I’m back at square one.”

Lorenz nodded sympathetically and stirred sugar into his tea. “I think you are doing much better, if you can say it to me so clearly. I have had long discussions with Marianne about the healing of the heart. It is quite a difficult endeavor.”

Sylvain shoved a cookie in his mouth so he wouldn’t have to comment. He hoped Lorenz would change the subject.

“While I hate to contribute to your suffering, I thought it best you hear from… a friend. Rather than any other means.”

Sylvain pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned over the tea setting. He sighed. “Heard what?”

Lorenz removed a piece of parchment from his breast pocket. It had been neatly trimmed, cutting off the beginning and end of the letter. As he passed it over, he said, “It would seem that Felix Hugo Fraldarius… is alive.”

With a shaking hand, Sylvain took the letter and read it. From the flowery language and crisp handwriting, he knew it was from Ferdinand, even though the signature was missing. Not only was Felix alive, but he was wielding both the Lance of Ruin and a major Crest of Gautier. Unlike when Monica and Tomas returned from their disappearances, Felix’s personality hadn’t changed and he still had both the Crest of Fraldarius and the Aegis shield.

“Thank you. I have to go.” Sylvain shoved away from the table and staggered out of the room. He dropped the letter in the box outside Judith’s office and went to drown his feelings in a bath. He soaked up to his ears in the steaming water and tried to muddle through his thoughts. 

Felix was alive. He had to be. Ferdinand had mentioned the white hair, though if he knew how it was related to a second Crest, he didn’t say in the portion of the letter Sylvain saw. The Dark Ones must have captured him in Fhirdiad so they could kill Dimitri and his uncle. As much as Felix griped and moaned about chivalry and duty, he wouldn’t have just let Cornelia execute Dimitri, no matter his supposed crimes.

When the water was cold, Sylvain felt no desire to leave the tub. He just sat and stared at the water, trying to picture Felix with white hair. His heart clenched when he remembered that a shortened lifespan came with the hair and second Crest. 

A knock sounded on the door and the person came in before Sylvain answered. Claude walked up and sat on the stool next to the tub. “Judith sent me a note to come make sure you weren’t drowning her house or she’d come herself.”

Sylvain stuck his mouth under the water and blew out a long breath.

“That bad, huh?”

“I’m sure you heard.”

“The Lance was bound to show up behind the Imperials lines. I’m not surprised.”

“Not even by who’s using it?”

Claude quirked an eyebrow. “The reports I got didn’t say. Just white hair, but that could be anyone who had a Crest transplant.”

“It’s Felix.”

Claude whistled. “Are you sure?”

“Ferdinand is.”

“Well that…”

“Yeah.”

“Are you going North?”

“I have to see him.”

Claude patted him on the head. “I’ll get a horse prepared to take you in the morning. I can’t spare anyone to go with you and even if I could, it would antagonize Edelgard to send a batallion over the border. Are you going to be okay?”

“No, but I have to see him.”

“Make sure you come back, Sylvain. We need you, too.”

\---

Sylvain wore a plain, brown travelling cloak over his clothes as he rode North, even though spring was quickly turning to summer. After a year in Derdriu he’d become more or less acclimated to the warmth and he didn’t want the weather in the mountains to slow him. He rode through Daphnel territory to Galatea and then West to Charon without stopping to see Ingrid. He could see her on the way back.

He shifted his course Northwest just before he hit Magdred. Judith’s dye should keep his hair brown until it grew out, but there was always a chance he’d be recognized, so Sylvain avoided the officer’s tents as much as he could when he found the Faerghan army. He used a Galatea insignia, another gift from Judith, to ensure no one asked any questions when he joined ranks with the mages. His chest ached to see what a sign of wealth something as simple as a horse was. When the war had started, he hadn’t been completely sold on the need to destroy the nobility, but the war was giving him perspective like nothing else.

Felix didn’t appear on the first day or the second. Sylvain didn’t see his white hair until the eighth day and his heart nearly burst in his chest. He threw a barrage of fireballs at the Aegis shield until Felix turned. There was no recognition in his face and Sylvain wanted to cry, but he couldn’t. He switched to Dark Magic, much more powerful in his hands after his injury and Lysithea’s intense training. It drew Felix’s attention and Sylvain pulled away from the lines as much as he dared. 

Thankfully, Felix was as reckless and adamantly a loner in battle and he made chase with only a single mage trailing a safe distance behind him. Felix slid to stop and realization crossed his face. He slung the lance into the harness on his back and sprinted across the field. He crashed into Sylvain with a clang of armor and squeezed the life out of him.

Sylvain sobbed and pressed his forehead to the crown of Felix’s head. “You’re alive. You’re alive! Felix.”

“I know, idiot.” Felix pulled away and looked Sylvain up and down. “What did they do to you?”

“To me? Felix they tortured you, implanted you with a second Crest and shortened your life span! Don’t worry about me.” He leaned in and pressed their foreheads together.

“They took the Lance from you. No matter how much you hated it, I know you didn’t give it up without a fight.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Sylvain leaned down to kiss Felix, but was stopped when Felix’s mage companion jogged up.

“Hey we don’t have time for this. I can’t keep the illusion up and Hubert will poison us if he thinks we're fraternizing.” He pulled off the strange bird mask to reveal a young man with hair the same pale purple as Lorenz’s.

Felix sighed and squeezed Sylvain’s arms. “Look, if Riegan hasn’t figured it out, this war has nothing to do with Edelgard. The boar is alive. Find him. Aim him at the Empire. Riegan needs to kill the upper echelon of the Agarthans.” He pointed to his face. “If their eyes are black, they’re part of the tyrannical ruling class. There won’t be peace in Fodlan until they’re gone.”

“Okay. Okay, I can tell him. But where do we find them?”

Felix looked at the mage. They stared silently for an eternity, then the mage’s head fell. “They have my family, Felix.”

“And they always will if we don’t do something.”

He grabbed Felix’s arm and pulled him away from Sylvain. “We’re out of time.”

“Wait!”

“Goneril!” was all the mage said before warping himself and Felix away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience! I didn't end up writing yesterday bc of the migraine, so take a newly minted chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My cat is like Sylvain. He is always bastard when he should be babie.
> 
> Also, more Better Lorenz.

Felix yanked his arm out of Better Lorenz’s grasp. “Did you have to be such a dramatic bitch about it?”

“I’m risking my family’s lives for you!” His hands were balled into fists and his cheeks were flushed. He’d left his weird bird-mask behind.

“You’re risking their lives _for them,_ you idiot. What, exactly do you think I’m getting out of this?” Felix grabbed his white ponytail and shoved it at him. “The price for this came out of my fucking life. For all I know, I’ll survive this war only to die in my sleep the next day.”

Better Lorenz gestured behind himself, meaning the direction they’d come from. “Don’t pretend you’re not getting anything out of this!”

Felix grabbed him by the collar. “Use your fucking brain, Nichol.”

“...I didn’t think you actually knew my name.”

“Shut up. I may not be some master tactician like Sylvain or Riegan, but if you think Vestra and the boar won’t raze Agartha and kill everyone inside, you’re mistaken. Vestra will figure out how the air works and pump it full of poison gas, meanwhile the boar simply no longer cares.”

Nichol’s eyes widened and he stiffened. “But no one’s even found us in a thousand years.”

“Yeah, and then some fucking moron decided to torture the wrong Imperial Princess. It’s been more than ten years. I assure you, Vestra knows where the base is, no matter how clever Thales thinks he is.” Felix sighed and released. “That’s why Riegan needs to be the general in charge of bringing him down. Even if the boar could see sense, he’d try to make everyone live aboveground.”

Nichol balked. “No. That would be-- Just no. But I don’t think everything will just… be fixed when Thales is gone. Listening to him isn’t exactly optional, but people will still want to rise up and kill the hell witch Seiros and the rest of her demonic family.”

Felix threw his hands up. “Who cares! Kill her. The Western Church has been trying to depose her for generations and the Eastern Church is hardly better with their obsession with Saint Cichol.”

“He’s alive, too,” Nichol said, hand on his chin. “You call him Seteth, I think?”

“I don’t care,” Felix shot back. “I doubt they care, either. All they want is power. Even if Rhea, Seteth, my left ass cheek reveals themselves to be a living Saint, few people are going to believe them and even more are going to want them silenced to keep their own power.”

Nichol bit his bottom lip. “Alright. I’ll talk to my parents and see if we know enough people to even keep the machines running. It was all technology when we first went underground, but has been steadily replaced with magitech as things failed and we lacked the right resources to repair them.”

Felix gave him a blank look.

“You know, the electricity? TV service? Nevermind, I’ll handle it.”

“Blonde Annette said Thales has been ruling for most of the last thousand years. He’s probably complacent.” Felix paused. “Wait, how is he still alive? The living Saints are terrible monsters, but what’s his excuse? What about the Bladebreaker? Wasn’t he three hundred years old?”

Nichol blinked. “I never… really thought about it. It’s just the way things are. I’ll ask around.”

“Hn.”

\---

Felix spent his time between exhibition battles to taunt his father studying magic and the Agarthan version of history. His Seirosian history wasn’t the best, but Felix vaguely remembered something about the Goddess coming from ‘beyond the Blue Sea Star’ which seemed to be corroborated by the Agarthan version. He had to sift through an endless amount of meaningless technology terms, but after two months of reading and interrogating Blonde Annette, he thought he had the gist of it.

Seirosian history had something about the Goddess healing and rebuilding the world, but it never specified _why._ Apparently, there’d been a great war between the humans and the Goddess and her children that destroyed the world, so it was her own fault, probably. He only really cared about the War of Heroes, which was… murky, at best.

“Annette--”

“For the millionth time, my _name_ is Katya.”

“Whatever.”

“Whatever, surfacer.”

Felix let the corner of his mouth quirk up, but then returned to his question. He held the book up to her. “This says that Nemesis brought Thales the sleeping goddess and, in return, was given the Sword of the Creator, but it doesn’t say how the sword was made or where it came from. Before the world was destroyed, you used completely different weapons, so it’s not something left over like those missile things that made Aillel.”

Katya leaned over the book and read the surrounding sections. “Oh, hmm, this book isn’t very detailed. The World Sword, what you call the Sword of the Creator, was made _from_ the one you call the Goddess.”

“What do you mean made from? That doesn’t make any sense.”

She gave him a weird look. “It’s made from her bones. Like your spear and shield.” She pointed to where the Lance of Ruin was propped next to his door. “I mean, look at it.”

Felix pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then what are Crests and Crest Stones?”

She sat at his desk and crossed her legs, looking so much like real Annette that something in Felix’s chest hurt. Not quite his heart, but something.

“Crests are just a blood marker. Like Rhesus type. Oh no, not that look. Umm, do you guys do blood transfusions at all on the surface?”

“They usually don’t work.”

“That’s because it’s the wrong kind of blood.”

“Blood is blood.”

“It’s… not. Look, just accept that there are different kinds of blood. Crest blood is just another type and you get that type from a transfusion from one of the hell beasts or, in your case, inherited from your family. And just like people die if you give them the wrong blood type, if you use a Relic Weapon with the wrong blood type, you die.”

“Right, okay, fine. What are Crest Stones?”

“Well, they’re not human, so they don’t really have souls. Crest Stones are what they have instead. It stores their magical power. Also they die if you break them, which was really helpful during the war -- and why they started using human disguises.”

“And Thales and whomever don’t see any irony in using human disguises to sabotage Fodlan?”

“Felix! That’s treason.”

“I’m a prisoner, remember?”

“I… Well, yes, I suppose.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyy

When he returned to Derdriu, Sylvain rode directly to the Riegan house. It was the middle of the night and a light drizzle was in from over the sea. The guards recognized him and made only token motions to stop him from barging into Claude’s personal study. As expected, Claude was awake and ink-stained over two different maps. He glanced up and brushed his bangs out of his eyes. “You’re back. I had a wyvern rider report that you had a duel with Felix. Are you alright?”

Sylvain shook his head and slipped into the chair opposite Claude. “That must have been an illusion. It doesn’t matter. Dimitri’s alive.” 

Claude leaned back and smoothed a hand over his hair. “Dimitri… Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Sylvain replied without hesitation. “He didn’t talk about retaking Fhirdiad or uniting Faerghus, he just said to steer him to the Empire and let him distract the army.”

“That sounds like Felix. I don’t know how much of an advantage that’ll give us in the war, though. Monstrous strength aside, he’s just one man. There’s gotta be more to it. Felix isn’t a bad tactician, just bad at explaining.”

Sylvain sighed and rubbed his eyes. It wasn’t a good memory. “Felix’s father believes Dimitri is alive. He’s been searching for him ever since the private execution. Rodrigue leads all of the resistance in Eastern Faerghus - we just have to tell him where Dimitri is and he’ll do the rest.”

Claude rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. “What is wrong with Faerghus?”

“Everything.”

“Fair. Alright, it’s not a bad plan, but ending Edelgard’s war doesn’t stop the Dark Ones from tearing Fodlan into pulled pork.” He rubbed his eyes and let the tiredness show. “Thanks for coming back alive, by the by.”

“The Dark Ones call themselves Agarthans.”

“Wait, what? Why didn’t you open with that?”

Sylvain smirked. “Because they weren’t the ones you were making out with behind the greenhouse.”

“Whoa, hey, that’s a little rude-”

Sylvain spoke over his complaints. “So from what I pieced together, we barely exchanged ten words, the Agarthans aren’t exactly happy with how their leadership is spending their time. Felix said the ones we have to deal with all have black eyes.”

“Like that Thales fellow.”

“Exactly. Felix’s babysitter wasn’t exactly forthcoming, apparently they have his family as leverage, but, he did say Goneril and I don’t think he means Holst.”

“Definitely not. That household is knit more tightly than Srengi socks. They’d notice an imposter in a heartbeat. So they’re probably hiding out in Goneril territory. It wouldn’t really matter since all of their mages use warp, but it’s kind of hard to hide a village. Especially with how many wyvern patrols they send out to watch for Almyrans.” Claude rubbed his chin. “Okay, so Felix’s plan is for Dimitri to distract the Empire while we deal with the Agarthans?”

“Yes. Hopefully he’s stirring up rebellion with his babysitter, but Felix has the charisma and leadership qualities of a rock, so…”

“Harsh.”

Sylvain laughed. “I love him, but I know who he is.”

“Alright, I’ll check with Judith about any dead zones in Goneril territory. If that doesn’t get us any leads, I’ll see about connecting Holst with my old weapon’s trainer. Together they can find these Agarthans.”

“What about Dimitri?”

“I wish I knew. How does a crown prince sentenced to execution go missing for a year? He’s not exactly subtle and couldn’t lie even before he lost the plot.”

\---

Sylvain woke in a cold sweat after a nightmare that ended with Felix skewered on the Lance of Ruin. The sun was just rising, so he washed, dressed and went out to the port market. Even at the early hour it was bustling. Sylvain tried to do everything with his right hand, but it tired after an hour. He bought a scarf and made it into a makeshift sling.

When the sweat was starting to bead on the back of his neck, he found a definitely not-Almyran vendor who was certainly not selling packets of spices favored there. Sylvain muffled his snicker with his elbow and exchanged a few nothing looks with the vendor, who commented on being a personal favorite of the reigning duke himself. Sylvain didn’t doubt it and bought a few sachets that smelled like Felix’s special cake.

It was on his walk back to the Daphnel house that inspiration struck. He sped into a jog and found Judith eating in the kitchen, discussing poisons with the cook. “Sylvain! Had a busy morning?”

“Dimitri has to be in Kleiman territory.”

“Excuse me?”

Sylvain took a minute to catch his breath. “He couldn’t have escaped alone. Dedue had to help him. Also, the last mission I did with the Blue Lions was helping out a lot of refugees from Duscur. Dimitri has to be with them.”

She rocked in her chair for a moment. “Alright. Alright. I’m picking up what you’re putting down. I’ll have my people go on an adventure. Is there any chance they took a boat north to Sreng?”

Sylvain wiggled his left hand just above the table. “Could go either way, but my gut says no. The reason they’ve been at war with Faerghus for so long is that they desperately need resources. Maybe as a staging ground before going to Albeania or Morfis, but I can’t see Dimitri not literally tearing the ship apart and swimming back. Whatever reports you got on his mental state, I assure you: they weren’t exaggerated.”

“Poor kid.” She shook her head. “Claude told me about the plan you lot are hatching. It’s risky, but with high reward. I know he’s wanted to sit Holst down with Nader for years, so this is his opportunity.”

“Trust Claude to multi-task.” Sylvain finally sat and then slumped against the table. “I really hope His Highness is okay. Even if Faerghus is a lost cause, I know Felix will be devastated if he never recovers.”

“Sometimes I forget you’re all kids.”

“You call me and Claude ‘boy’ more than our names.”

“Oh shush, you know what I mean.” She swatted his shoulder. “I still don’t know how Tiana of all people ended up with a child as soft as Claude, but here he is, fighting a war for a country he doesn’t really care for dealing with people who hate him and would hate him more if they knew who he really was.

“Take care of him, Sylvain. Watch over my boy and I’ll find your prince.”


	12. Chapter 12

Felix’s head hurt. He didn’t know why he had to be there where Better Lorenz and Better Annette planned the Agarthan rebellion. Between the two of them, they had enough relatives to operate all of the critical machinery. When Felix voiced his skepticism, they each pulled out a hand-sized screen which displayed their family trees. They then took a twenty minute break to find out how distantly related they were.

“Why does it matter?” He’d muttered, rubbing his temples. 

“Felix, you can’t marry your cousin!”

“Are you two getting married?”

“No!” they replied in unison with equal horror.

Felix rolled his eyes. “Then who cares?”

“It’s important you don’t procreate with anyone too closely related?”

“I don’t care.”

“...Nichol, tell me they don’t marry their cousins on the surface.”

“That’s the only good thing the hell witch teaches them. That and hygiene. There’s no Thames in Fodlan.”

Felix threw Better Lorenz’s pillows at them. “I’m in love with a man, you morons. I don’t care.” Thankfully, that had been the end of that conversation. Now they were arguing over the merits of trying to convert the systems back to purely technological over leaving them as partial magitech, which Felix cared even less about, but was less annoying. He skimmed through his magic text, rereading the passages on the theory behind elemental magic and why it was more difficult for the Agarthans. The basis of the theory was that their underground lives with mostly synthetic interactions made them less intune with the elements, but that didn’t explain why Felix could barely launch a thoron now when he’d mastered the spell at the Academy.

Suddenly curious, he pulled books out of Better Lorenz’s bedside shelves until he had the thick tome on the history of magic. It was full of old technology words that Felix didn’t understand, so he had to skip around until he found a part he could make sense of. He asked for definitions as he read and they answered without breaking the stride of their arguments.

“Oy, you two, shut up for a second.”

Better Annette looked, unironically, rebellious, whereas Better Lorenz was used to it. He spoke first. “What?”

“This book says that there wasn’t any magic in the world before the Goddess appeared.” He swung his legs off the bed and shoved the book at them.

“Yeah? So what? It was a disaster. We had to change how we handled wireless transmission because the magic caused interference.” Better Annette scowled at the book.

“So if you kill off all of the hell beasts, what are the chances magic disappears with them?”

“That… That’s a good point.” Better Annette chewed on one of her fingernails.

“I don’t think so,” Better Lorenz said. He flipped through the book about three quarters of the way before the end. “Because after the Fallen Sky War and the War of Destruction -- the War of Heroes, as you call it -- there was a significant boost in magic. For example, Crest infusions weren’t possible before the Fallen Sky War or else our people would have been doing that and making Relic Weapons back then.” He flipped later. “And infusing a second Crest into a host wasn’t possible until fifty years ago and even then the test subjects died after three years.”

“That’s not encouraging,” Felix muttered through gritted teeth. 

“You’ve got at least ten. And if we remove the second Crest before then, you should be fine.”

“Can you do that?”

“Well, no, but Katya’s Aunt Draha probably can.”

Better Annette nodded. “Yeah, grandmama lost her first wife to those experiments, so she learned how to reverse the process and taught Auntie.”

“Fine. But Lysithea first.”

\---

After that conversation, Felix’s life moved impossibly fast. He was ushered between Agarthan relatives and forced to explain the surface world, its beliefs, the Church of Seiros and its relationship with the people. He felt like an idiot, since he barely paid attention to any of his classes about religion and thought the Archbishop was weird in a way he found completely satisfying with the knowledge she wasn’t human.

His lack of information actually seemed to reassure most of the people he spoke to. Apparently, the Hell Witch Seiros narrative was shoved down the throats from childhood and they had to attend… well, it sounded like the opposite of church services: monthly speeches about the evils of the hell beasts.

Then there was the fact that his comment about Hubert poisoning the air was more on the nose than he’d expected. Apparently, entire housing wings had been murdered for real or perceived slights in the past. Added to the fact that Thales and his flunkies were functionally immortal as Felix had guessed, there was even more dissent than he’d hoped. Katya even had a group of cousins that were treasonously sympathetic to the hell beasts.

The leader of that faction was a mild-mannered historian with round glasses and an uncanny resemblance to Manuela. Felix respected her too much to call her Unslutty Manuela, so he settled for Katya’s Other Aunt. 

“Thales and his people have tried to erase this knowledge in recent generations, but they have a criminal lack of respect for us and never checked our personal stores.” She opened up a book and showed him a spread of diagrams that didn’t make much sense. “The goddess made her children with a fatal flaw. She gave them too much of her power for their minds to handle. The Fallen Sky War escalated to the destruction of the planet because the children of the goddess lost their minds if they used too much of their power.”

She flipped through a few pages. “They attacked anyone and anything… And then eventually devolved into the creatures we now call wyverns. Originally, all of the children of the goddess turned into dragons like Seiros, but they took on lesser forms to prevent the loss of their minds.”

The woman’s husband rubbed the back of his neck. “But given all of the information we have now, Seiros  _ has already _ more or less lost her mind, hence her obsession with resurrecting her mother. But any others lingering around should be… fine.”

Felix had thought, hoped that that would be the most disturbing thing he learned while being paraded around. But then Nichol’s girlfriend, who put up with his nonsense and thus deserved to be called by her real name, which was Irena, asked a question that made the bottom of Felix’s stomach drop out.

“The Heroes Relics and the bloodlines of the Ten Elites were made from the blood and bones of Seiros’ family… So why are they lauded as heroes and given so much power and influence after she won the War of Destruction?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, I've played all of the routes and watched the cutscenes multiple times and let me tell you: the lore is complete and utter bs. This is the closest approximation I can make to what they might have intended, but it's a goddamn mess.
> 
> Also, the wyvern thing is actually lore from other games, so make of that what you will. Thanks for reading.


	13. Chapter 13

Judith sent Sylvain to Fraldarius to discuss Felix with his father. Apparently, he’d believed the ploy that Felix had turned traitor voluntarily and Sylvain’s job was to reassure him that there was hope. When he arrived at Castle Fraldarius, he thought it was too late. Despite winter’s first early tendrils slapped across the land, the castle bustled like a flooded anthill. Guards tried to keep him outside of even the castle town and only relented when Sylvain flashed the Crest of Gautier.

The guards brought him to the castle’s steward, a small man bent with age who was twice as slumped as he was in Sylvain’s earliest memories. His name was Philipe and he examined Sylvain through narrowed eyes. “Little Gautier. Tell me: what is your favorite food?”

Sylvain blinked. “Uh… cheese gratin?”

“Good, good. Can’t be too careful in this war. Come, the young master is waiting.” Him calling Rodrigue the ‘young master’ was weirdly reassuring as he led Sylvain to the dungeons of Castle Fraldarius.

It was the one place Sylvain had never seen before. While they’d had free reign of the rest of the castle, the dungeons were not only off-limits, but barred with strong magic. Black Magic, which Rodrigue loathed using. As a teenager, Sylvain realized that Rodrigue must have been in charge of the less… savory dealings of the Kingdom. His job was to leave Lambert’s hands clean in a far more subtle fashion than Hubert could ever hope to.

The temperature dropped as they descended and Sylvain could smell rust and old blood. His right arm ached as the old wounds soaked in the ambient Black Magic that throbbed like blood from a gutting. Philipe knocked an off-beat series on a steel-banded door and waited. Rodrigue eventually opened it, his hair uncharacteristically tied up and sweat beaded on his forehead.

“Sylvain.” His eyebrows flew up and his mouth pinched in displeasure. “And here I thought you were South with von Riegan.”

“I talked to Felix.”

Before Rodrigue could respond, a howl echoed out of the room behind him. It was followed by a snarl and a broken, “I’ll kill you for him, too!”

Sylvain leaned against the cold, stone wall as relief flooded through him. “You found Dimitri.”

“You knew he was alive?” The accusation is raw in Rodrigue’s voice.

“Felix told me. I guessed he was in Kleiman territory with refugees from Duscur.”

Rodrigue frowned. “He was. Mr. Molinaro and his allies brought His Highness here some three weeks ago. They wouldn’t say why they suddenly decided to change location, but now I can see Judith’s hands all over it.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I suppose I have no choice but to forgive her this time.”

Dimitri howled again and there was a deafening snap of wood breaking. Rodrigue sighed again. “Come along, Sylvain. I suppose seeing you couldn’t hurt. I need to see that he doesn’t hurt himself on whatever he’s broken this time.”

The room hummed with magic, but White Magic. Sylvain could taste the bitter edge of a Silence in the air. Dimitri was a wreck, holding onto two broken halves of a table. His right eye was scarred closed and his hair was shaggy and unruly, though it had clearly been washed recently. He had also grown, now easily as tall as Sylvain. His hands were bandaged with the wrappings going up and disappearing under his sleeves. Dedue was behind him, hands on his shoulders and murmuring quietly in Dimitri’s ear in a vain attempt to calm him.

Rodrigue swept in and took the table pieces from Dimitri’s hands, handing them back to Sylvain who deposited them in the hall. Dedue had new scars from their time at the academy, but they were already old and faded. He managed to get Dimitri to sit on a divan with torn upholstery. 

Sylvain swallowed and stepped forward until Dimitri looked at him. “Hey Mitya. It’s me.”

“Sylvain.” His name was more of a growl than anything. “Why aren’t you helping me? They killed Felix! Don’t you care?” He bared his teeth.

It hurt Sylvain’s heart to see him like that. No wonder Felix had been so angry at Garreg Mach. Who wouldn’t have been, knowing what lingered beneath the calm facade? He tentatively reached out and touched Dimitri’s elbow. “Felix isn’t… dead. He’s not fine, not really, but he’ll be okay eventually.”

“And how would you know? Are you with them?” As Dimitri’s anger flared, so did the ache in Sylvain’s arm.

“Hey, hey, shh, no. Felix managed to get away for a little bit. They hurt him. Gave him a second Crest. His hair is white now, like Lysithea.” And Edelgard, he didn’t say, though it burned in his eyes. He forced a laugh out of his lungs and it was a pathetic enough attempt that even Dedue spared him a kind glance. “He has the Crest of Gautier now. And the Lance of Ruin. Funny how it is, huh?”

“Rodrigue! Release me at once! I must go to Enbarr!”

Rodrigue didn’t even flinch, used to the demand. “Your Highness, you need to recover your strength.”

Dimitri hissed and turned to Sylvain. “Tell him, Sylvain! We need to avenge his sons!”

“Dima, Felix is  _ alive. _ He’s the entire reason we found you.”

“So they’ve gotten to you, too.”

Rodrigue put his hand on Dimitri’s shoulder and pushed him to sleep with a burst of White Magic. “Mr. Molinaro, can you continue to watch over him?”

“Of course.”

They nodded to each other and then Rodrigue led Sylvain out of the dungeons with a firm hand on his arm. “Did you really speak to my son?”

“Yes. Everything I said was the truth, but… Having a second Crest forced on him has decreased his lifespan. We don’t know if it’s reversible, but Lysithea von Ordelia has the same condition and has been researching for years. I’ve contributed what I can, but no one’s ever wanted to  _ remove _ a Crest before.”

“It’s horrible what they did to him, but it is better than if he’d been killed. I cannot express-” Rodrigue swallowed. “To lose him, too, knowing how badly I had failed him-- I wish I could say I deserve this chance the Goddess has given me.”

They stopped in the Fraldarius family parlor where a servant finally took Sylvain’s cloak and replaced his riding boots with soft, indoor shoes. Sylvain sat in an armchair and instantly slouched, letting his worries drip off like a late rain. “I’m sure Felix will let you make it up to him, in his way.”

“I can only hope to make it right.”

Sylvain sighed and rubbed his eyes. “His Highness is worse than I was expecting.”

“It is a tragedy to say, but he is far better now than when he first arrived in my care.”

Sylvain removed his right glove and rolled up his sleeve. He massaged the twisted and scarred flesh. Rodrigue’s focus narrowed on his arm. 

“I read the reports from your father, of course, but the damage to your arm truly is horrific.”

“It was much worse.” He paused. “I’m not sure where to start, but Judith, Claude and I think we know who caused the Tragedy of Duscur.”

Rodrigue covered his eyes. “My own investigation says that Cornelia was involved and… strongly implicated Patricia, as much as I am loath to admit it.”

“It might not have been them. At least, not really.” Sylvain nearly flinched at the intensity of Rodrigue’s stare. “Did anyone tell you what happened at Garreg Mach? With Tomas and Monica von Ochs? They were imposters, wearing the faces of Tomas and Monica. Cornelia and Patricia could have been the same.”

“Perhaps… In the end, Cornelia has signed her own death warrant, killing Rufus and attempting to kill His Highness.” He clenched his hands into fists. “I wish I could do more for him, but injuries of the mind are so difficult.”

“There might be more to it than that.” Sylvain rubbed his arm again. “These wounds were aching and  _ resonating _ with something in your dungeon. And I know you and your people can’t use their magic. If we’re lucky, His Highness is still under one of their spells that makes him… like this.”

“If he is, I cannot sense it on him. I would not know where to begin.”

“I’m sure I can convince Lysithea to come take a look. All of Fodlan is at stake in this war.”

“If you can convince her, I will grant her permission to come and see him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, uh, Byleth, you gonna help there, bud?


	14. Chapter 14

Felix met Sylvain again during a skirmish outside of Arianrhod. Ingrid was flying on the opposite end of the battlefield, though if she knew he was there or anything about his situation Sylvain didn’t mention it. Not that they had time to waste on idle chit chat. “You found him?” Felix grabbed Sylvain by the collar and Nichol faked gagging noises in the background.

“Dedue brought him to Castle Fraldarius and your father’s been watching over him. Look, I know you want to bitch, but later. He was cursed by the Agarthans during the Tragedy. Yes, the Blaiddyd line is just  _ like that _ sometimes, but they did something to make it much worse. He’s more-or-less back to how he was at the Academy--”

“You can’t unring the bell, Sylvain.”

“No one is expecting you to be his keeper. Look, your father’s let you down a lot, but he’s going to try to make it up to you--”

“My old man doesn’t need you defending him.”

“We’re not going to get through all of the information we need to before the illusion runs out if you keep interrupting me. Please, please, Felix, trust me. You know I’m not the idiot I always wanted people to believe I am.”

Felix sighed with his entire body, shoulders slumping as he released Sylvain. “Fine. The boar is better, now what?”

“He’s going to retake Fhirdiad.”

Felix’s eyebrows shot up, but he let Sylvain keep talking.

“The important part is we, Claude, Judith and I, don’t think Edelgard ever wanted this war. The war machine was moving and she could choose to ride it or be killed herself. You need to convince her to step down gracefully, or at least not sacrifice the Empire on Thales’ altar.”

“If you retake Fhirdiad, Thales will burn it to the ground. Like what happened at Aillel, not your monastery,” Nichol interjected.

Sylvain paled. “Like Aillel? How are we supposed to defend against that?”

“You can’t,” Felix said. “But Nichol’s rebellion can scuttle their machines that do it. The problem is, Thales will know it’s sabotage, so von Riegan has to be ready to clear out the rats.”

Sylvain took a deep breath and then pulled out a scrap of fabric. A map. He shoved it at Nichol. “We’ve narrowed it down to these areas, but we can’t find the base. Is it under some kind of illusion?”

“It’s underground, you idiot!” Felix snarled.

“You never said that!”

Nichol snatched the map and smeared an area with ash. “This is the entrance. Don’t bring horses; they’ll spook. So will most of your people. We don’t have soldiers: just mages. A strike team should be enough. The head of the snake is the only part with any venom.”

Sylvain stuffed the map back under his armor. “Thank you. Have your rebels wear yellow. That’s the Alliance color and it’ll ensure there aren’t any accidents.”

“We’ll take care of it.” Nichol took a deep breath, but then shook his head. “Go. We have to go now. Felix and I have to cause some real damage this time or Thales will get suspicious.”

Even as Nichol pulled him away, Felix resisted. “Sylvain… Cornelia’s one of them. Make sure my father deals with her at Fhirdiad. She’s Thales’s best magician.”

“Got it.”

\---

Felix shoved his way into Edelgard’s council room without so much as a knock. All conversation stopped at the sight of him and Nichol. Felix lifted his chin and banged his fist against the door. “Everyone out. I’m going to speak to the Emperor alone.”

His former classmates hesitated, glancing at Edelgard, but one by one filed out after Hubert’s sharp nod. The man himself didn’t move from Edelgard’s side. Once the last person, Linhardt, left, Felix closed the door with a blast of purple magic that splashed against the wood before expanding out to circle the room.

Hubert sniffed at the magic. “Finally worried about eavesdroppers, Fraldarius?”

Felix nodded to Nichol, who took a step forward and removed his mask. “We’re staging a rebellion against Thales. This war is over.”

Edelgard sat still as a stone, even as Hubert touched her shoulder. “This war is just beginning. Duke Fraldarius is leading the last of Faerghus’ loyal against Fhirdiad in a last ditch-”

“Dimitri’s alive. And he’s leading them, El.” Felix stared, watching as his use of her nickname sunk in. “Yes, I know all about your friendship and his stupid dagger.”

Edelgard put her hands on the table. “That was a lifetime ago.”

“And you have less than one left.”

Hubert’s visible eye widened and his nostrils flared.

“Don’t be surprised. Crests don’t come free, Vestra.” Felix stalked forward until he was standing just opposite the table from Edelgard. “But the Agarthans are willing to fix it once Thales is gone.”

“We can’t bring back your siblings, but we can give you the rest of your life.” Nichol’s voice was painfully earnest. “He always experimented on us first. We’ve lost just as much as you have.”

“I have long since resigned myself to my fate and my path. This changes nothing.” Edelgard sat with her head held high. “But I will be kind enough not to tell my uncle of this.”

“I’ve had enough blind idiocy with your fucking family! No one in Faerghus has  _ ever _ wanted their Crest and no one in all of Fodlan will once they know the truth about the Ten Elites and the Heroes’ Relics. Your army is comprised of nobles leading their loyal men. You never had a snowball’s chance in Aillel of abolishing the nobility.”

“The Church-”

“You already killed Rhea! What’s left? Seteth and Flayn? Indech and Macuil turned their backs on Seiros a long time ago. Drop the axe and stop making the rest of Fodlan pay for their crimes.”

Edelgard shielded her eyes with her gloved hand, as if the truth burned her. 

“With Faerghus united behind Dimitri and the Alliance not willing to bend the knee to Riegan, let alone you, this war is over. “

Hubert squeezed Edelgard’s shoulder and spoke for the first time. “What, exactly, are you proposing?”

“I keep the boar busy. My old man kills Cornelia. You and Sylvain make sure our classmates don’t kill each other for a war no one ever wanted.” Felix snapped his ponytail to the side. “You have Ashe. You know the Western Lords have no interest in the Central Church and are more than happy to let it fall. During the aftermath, von Riegan will take Agartha-”

“No.” Hubert said. “Thales’ head-”

“If you want it, then lure him to you. It should be easy after a defeat at Fhirdiad. He’ll come to punish you or threaten or brag. Take your revenge and then let there be peace. Force the boar into an alliance marriage for all I care.”

“Whoa, no,” Nichol said. “Weren’t you listening to me and Katya? Siblings marrying is even worse than cousins.”

Edelgard glanced up, stunned bemusement on her features.

“Goddess, Nichol, now is  _ not the time _ for this.”

“Do you want mutant children on the thrones?”

“They’re  _ step _ -siblings and even then Dimitri’s step mother may well have been an Agarthan in disguise for all we know. Edelgard’s real mother probably died in the plague with mine.”

Edelgard shivered and clasped her hands together on the table. “That… is something I have considered, but nevertheless, I have no intention of marrying Dimitri, alliance or no.” She took a shuddering breath. “How much faith do you have in this plan, Felix?”

“Thales made me an only child, too, if you remember,” Felix sneered.

Edelgard closed her eyes. “Hubert…”

“Your Majesty…”

“Go to Derdriu. I can handle Thales alone. I trust only you to deal with these...Agarthans properly. If everything Felix has said is true, Claude will accept your help.”

“Are you certain?”

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. Tears dripped down her face. “I’m so tired, Hubert.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all downhill from here, friends! Just one more chapter, then an epilogue. Please comment and let me know what you think!
> 
> Who's your favorite character and why is it Better Lorenz?


	15. Chapter 15

Sylvain repeated  _ Felix is fine _ as a mantra in his head as the strike force approached the entrance to the Agarthan base. Hubert walked in the center of the former Golden Deer students, who kept shooting him suspicious glances, outside of Lysithea and Claude who understood the true depths of his hatred for the Agarthans. If anything, they were going to have to hold him back from taking things too far, but Sylvain doubted it. At her heart, Edelgard didn’t like bloodshed more than anyone else.

A young woman with ash-blonde hair and a bright, yellow sash tied around her shoulders stepped out of the ruins. She didn’t yell at the sight of them, but she  _ was _ cowering against the sky in a way that would have been hilarious if they weren’t moments away from killing all the leaders of her people. With her hand above her head, she approached them. “I’m Katya.”

Claude held out his hand and shook hers. “Claude von Riegan. I can see you were expecting us.”

She nodded and darted back the way she’d come. “Hurry, Thales just left. We don’t have much time.” Once everyone was underground she handed claude a reflective rectangle. Before he could really examine it, she pressed the sides and it lit up like a scrying pool. It showed a detailed map. “Look, we don’t have time for me to explain how it works. Take off your gloves and I’ll show you how it works.”

Apparently, the scrying spell could show different parts of the map if you touched it the right ways. The targeted Agarthans would all appear on the map as red reticles. The map was to be trusted over their own eyes. Yellow sashes could be stolen. However they were marked on the map couldn’t be faked.

Sylvain caught a look in her eye that he interpreted as ‘Well they can, but it’s difficult and we don’t have time for this.’ She handed Sylvain a second scrying rectangle. “We need to split up.” She looked over the group and pointed to Hilda and Marriane. “You two need to come with me. Your Relic Weapons will be needed to open the bunker on the lowest level. Irena will meet the other group and take you through the mid levels.”

Claude lifted Failnaught. “This isn’t good enough?”

“You can come, but it might function too much like our magic.”

“Alright, Sylvain, take Hubert, Ignatz, Raphael and Lorenz and meet with Irena.”

“She’s a green dot on the map,” Katya said. “...You can see green and red, right?”

“What? Of course I can.” Sylvain felt himself go nearly cross-eyed at the weird question.

“Nevermind, go, go.”

Hubert removed his gloves and took the scrying spell from Sylvain. His fingers were stained black with residual magic and cracked and bloody at the joints. Lysithea told him that’s what happened if you used Dark Magic without being, more or less, cursed like they were. Their own injuries soaked up the corruption, but without them… You ended up with Hubert. Not for the first time, Sylvain’s heart ached from the obvious devotion on display. He sent a quick prayer to the goddess in thanks that Edelgard would survive losing the war.

Irena found them and quickly led them to their first target. The fights themselves were short, but intense. Dark Magic pulsed heavy enough in the air to magic Sylvain’s arm ache, but it was cut off by a few heavy blows from Raphael, Ignatz or Lorenz. Hubert cleared the latent magic and Sylvain loitered uselessly by Irena. 

Agarthans peeked around corners and snuck out of doors, whatever yellow fabric they owned attached to their torso in preposterous fashion. Sylvain spotted more than one pair of frilly panties pinned to people’s shoulders. The rebels offered the strike team food and gifts or advice about blocked off tunnels.

“Normally there would be terrible alarms blaring,” said one bug-eyed young man. “But my uncle managed to disable the system as soon as Thales left the base.”

“And my cousin brought down mobile communication, so he shouldn’t have any idea what’s happening.”

Sylvain didn’t know what, exactly, mobile communication was supposed to be, but Thales not rushing back and avoiding Edelgard’s axe was good. It almost didn’t feel real. Between the harsh lighting, metal floors and oddly dressed people cheering them on, it was like some kind of bizarre dream that only visited those who narrowly escaped death on the field of battle. 

After a fight that left the walls scored to the stone beneath the siding, Hubert shoved the scrying spell at Irena. “What does this mean?”

Sylvain looked over his shoulder at it. There was clearly writing blinking across it, obscuring the map, but it wasn’t a language he’d ever seen before.

“It means we got everyone.” She ran down the hall to a door that looked no different from any others and went inside. The room was lined with scrying spells: some large, some small. There were also lights and printing boards with the unfamiliar letters. The woman who was already inside spoke to Irena in a similarly unfamiliar language. They went back and forth, tapping purposefully on the printing boards, which made the scrying spells change.

“What are you doing?” Hubert asked, his voice dripping venom and malice. 

“We’re trying to contact the other team. That means undoing all of the measures we took earlier to keep  _ them _ from talking to each other and grouping up. It’s all highly technical.”

“Just warp us to their location!”

She spun away from the scrying spell and stalked up to Hubert. She jabbed her finger in the center of his chest, not the least cowed by him. “You can’t warp in the base. Now stop interrupting us and let me work!”

Though he muttered darkly under his breath, Hubert went silent. 

Sylvain gestured to the hand-held scrying spell. “Why don’t you use that to get back above ground and just go warp to Edelgard from there?”

Hubert’s mouth pursed as if he’d tasted something exceptionally sour. He clearly didn’t want to do anything Sylvain told him to, but he couldn’t deny that was exactly what he wanted. In the end, he just growled and left the room with a flurry of his cape.

“Are you quite certain we should just allow him to leave?” Lorenz asked.

“Felix is still with Edelgard, if he gets any ideas about pushing the war while we’re all underground.”

Ignatz adjusted his glasses. “Is this really it, then? Thales left, we know that, but we never actually got confirmation that Dimitri successfully took Fhirdiad.”

“Have a little faith, Ignatz. If you thought the people here were happy to see us, you can’t imagine how the people of Fhirdiad would have greeted Dimitri. Faerghus has always been a little,” he wiggled his hand, “you know.”

Raphael burst into laughter and Lorenz couldn’t decide whether he wanted to be smug or aghast.

“We’ve got them!” Irena said, once again in Fodlan’s language. “They made it through the bunker and got the rest of the command team.” Tears fell from her eyes. “We did it. We’re finally free.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As my gift to you for making it this far, I am posting the epilogue immediately!


	16. Chapter 16

Byleth woke up all at once. He was floating in a river at the bottom of a canyon. Well, more of a creek, since he could feel the bottom when he was flipping over. He trudged to the bank and shook himself, though his armor was soaked through. His memories were fuzzy, fogged over by his long sleep. Finally, he made it to a village. Despite the early hour, everyone was awake and about, chatting and eating and dressed in bright colors. Byleth blinked at the sight.

“Are you alright?” A kind woman with a purple shawl asked him. “Oh dear, you’re soaked through. You must be freezing. Did you fall on your way to the Millenium Festival? Come, come. We’ll have our healer take a look at you.”

“My students…”

“I’m certain they’re already back up at the monastery. Come, come.”

Byleth let himself be led through the village, dumped in a hot bath and examined by a healer, who bandaged a wound on his arm from Edelgard’s assault on the monastery. The woman with the purple shawl shoved a very nice set of clothing into his arms.

“Here, now. These were my husband’s finest, but he passed in the war. You get dressed and then come back for your armor later. You won’t be needing it at the festival.”

“Thank you.”

As he walked the flooded pilgrim’s path to the monastery, Byleth’s mind sped. The war was over? Well, if it truly was the millenium festival, then it had been five years since the attack. He’d been asleep for five years? It was difficult to believe, but with the thick crowds, he didn’t have much room for doubt.

He made it to the market just outside Garreg Mach with relative ease, but the gate was guarded by armored knights in four colors. They gently turned people away from the gates, stating that there was a very strict guest list for entrance to the monastery for the festival. The knights were from the Kingdom, Alliance and then two groups Byleth didn’t recognize. While the colors on one were red and black, their insignia wasn’t the two-headed eagle of the Adrestian Empire. The last group wore purple and silver, their banner an oddly-colored circle surrounded by wheat. 

It was a knight from the last group that stepped up to Byleth, lifting his visor to reveal the face of  _ the _ gatekeeper. “Greetings Professor! Welcome back! Just in time for the Millenium Festival. Duke Riegan told us to expect you. Please, come right in.”

Bemused, Byleth entered the main hall. Within, knights of all four colors stood watch, though none were the familiar Knights of Seiros. Byleth let the tide of people pull him into the grand ballroom. The herald announced him to a chorus of cheers and some shouts of surprise.

Before he could get a good look around, Claude appeared and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Just in time for the reunion, hey old friend?” He was older, with a dark beard and a smile that reached his bright eyes.

“I was sleeping.”

Claude laughed from the bottom of his stomach and threw his arm around Byleth’s shoulders. “I figured. You missed quite a bit. We’ll have to talk all about it later. I have to carry out my sovereign duties for now. Don’t take another nap without letting me know.”

And then, with a wink, he was gone.

Byleth moved away from the center of the hall, making a beeline for a group of the red and black knights who stood tall and sharp around two women: one with thick, black hair and the other with pin-straight brown hair. Both looked up at Byleth’s approach and his gasp caught in his throat.

“And what do you have to be surprised about, Professor? You were the one that was asleep for five years,” Edelgard,  _ Edelgard _ said. She Lysithea (whose hair was black!) laughed as if they hadn’t a care in the world. Edelgard was wearing a slick, black, ceremonial cloak over a sharp, red uniform-looking arrangement. She held out one hand, scarred, but ungloved. “You may now address me as Councillor Edelgard von Hresvelg. Adrestia is a republic now.”

“You both seem well,” Byleth murmured after he kissed the back of her hand.

“Of course we do. What did you expect? That we were all going to sit on our hands for five years?” Though her words were accusatory, Lysithea’s tone was light and followed by another laugh.

Byleth let himself be pushed away by others wishing to speak to the former emperor. The dreamlike feeling had yet to fade, to the point that he did a double-take when he found Dimitri. He was nearly a head taller than he had been at the academy and dressed in full Faerghus royal finery. Though Dedue was still at his side, he was dressed in equal, if differently styled, finery and stood as Dimitri’s equal.

“Ah, professor! You came after all!” He was missing his right eye, but the left one sparkled with pleasure. “Claude assured me you would arrive, but I must say I doubted him.”

“It is, indeed, good to see you, professor.”

“No need to be so demure, Dedue.” Dimitri pulled on Byleth’s arm and leaned down, as if sharing a secret. “You see, Dedue has spent so much time restoring Duscur that he has been made ambassador to the rest of Fodlan.”

“Your Majesty-”

“Dimitri.”

“Dimitri, there is no need for such fanfare.”

Byleth smiled. “I’m proud of you, Dedue. I know you worked hard to earn this position.”

Dedue took a moment to sigh before accepting the praise with somewhat stilted grace. “Thank you, professor.”

After that strange encounter, Byleth decided he should find something to eat and drink so he could be absolutely, strikingly sure that this wasn’t all some strange kind of dream. The food was warm and pleasant in his stomach, not what he’d been expecting from such a… a fluttering, wispy kind of dream. He stood at the edge of the ballroom and tried to pick out all of the familiar faces. 

Hilda and Marianne were dancing together, both to the music and the shouts of two gigantic men, one of whom was certainly her brother Holst. Ignatz stood at the bottom of a great painting Byleth couldn’t make out, but he seemed to be presenting it, so it may well have been his work. Raphael he’d met at the refreshments. Leonie’s face peeked out from one of the purple and silver suits of armor.

“Ah, you must be the professor.” The man that had approached him wore deep purple robes with silver embroidery and looked twice as uncomfortable as Dedue had in the finery. It even clashed with his pale, lavender hair. After an awkward pause, he held out his hand. “I am Nichol Medved, aide to the Agarthan ambassador.” He gestured to an old woman with small, round glasses, silver hair and a delicate purple gown.

“Agarthan?”

“Um, oh. Uh, well… Do you remember-”

“Stop while you’re ahead, Better Lorenz,” Felix said. His hair was longer, down and had a single, thick lock of pure white. He’d appeared next to Sylvain. They wore matching teal cloaks lined with white fur and clasped with a curious, identical, silver brooch. They also stood with their arms linked.

Sylvain grinned and clapped Byleth on the shoulder. “Welcome back, professor. What Nichol was trying to say is that Agartha is an underground civilization from before the goddess healed the world.”

Well,  _ that _ didn’t make any sense, but all three men looked mildly amused by Sylvain’s description, so Byleth didn’t question it. He could figure it out later. He gestured to his and Felix’s linked arms. “I take it, congratulations are in order?”

Sylvain beamed at Felix, who sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. In his most put-upon tone, which was considerable, he said, “Presenting my husband, His Grace, Duke Sylvain Jose Fraldarius.”

Sylvain giggled like a delighted schoolboy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Byleth: walks in an hour late with starbucks
> 
> [Thanks everyone! If you liked this, please go send some love to the original artist!](https://twitter.com/vanaillea/status/1251899110459764742?s=20)
> 
> (also please comment, but y'all have been great at that, thank you so much)

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm on twitter and playing ACNH](https://twitter.com/duveraun)


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